Chapter 64 – A Living Nightmare

CONTENT WARNING: This chapter contains sexual coercion which may be offensive to some readers.

(Quinn's perspective)

I wish I could say I remembered the walk to the house, but everything was a blur—dark trees we passed, the soft noises of the forest, and my own mind screaming at me to stay calm. Not that it mattered. Calm wasn't exactly in the cards when you're trapped with a monster who promises to break you in every way possible.

The house was… massive. Grand in a way that screamed wealth, but it was rotting at the edges, like something straight out of a horror movie. Ivy climbed the cracked stone walls, and the windows looked more like hollowed-out eyes staring back at me. I wanted to run, but where? He was right behind me, his hand clamped around my wrist like a shackle.

"Welcome home," Cale said, his voice too smug, too casual, like he hadn't just dragged me from my life and dumped me into this nightmare.

He led me up the winding staircase to a room at the end of a long hallway. The door creaked as he opened it, and my stomach twisted when I saw what waited for me—a bed with crisp sheets, a wardrobe, and a single window barred shut. It was so normal it felt wrong, like the setup was mocking me.

"This is where you'll stay," he said, his tone dripping with fake politeness. "Get comfortable. Who knows how long you'll be here?"

I turned to him, my heart pounding. "Let me go."

He just smirked. "You're not going anywhere, little goddess. But you're welcome to try."

And I did. God, I tried. The first few days were a blur of clawing at windows, rattling doorknobs, and screaming until my throat felt raw. I fought him every chance I got, kicking, punching, even biting when he got too close. But he never raised a hand to me—not yet.

Instead, he waited. Patient, calm, watching me like I was some wild animal that would eventually tire itself out. "You'll come around," he'd say with that smug smirk that made me want to claw his eyes out.

But when his patience ran thin, that's when the real terror began.

"You think this is a game?" he hissed one night after I tried to smash a chair through the window. He grabbed my arm, yanking me so close I could feel the cold radiating off him. "I've been patient with you. Waiting. But now I think it is time you give in. Give me what I want, and I won't need to hurt anyone... like maybe your parents."

I froze at the mention of my parents, but I knew this was just a manipulative trick to get me to voluntarily sleep with him. Gross. So I just rolled my eyes at him and stood my ground.

"You think I won't make good on my promises?" He smirked.

"I think you're full of shit," I spat, trying to wrestle free.

His grip tightened, and for the first time, there was a flicker of something darker in his eyes. "Let's test that theory, shall we?"

The next morning, he came into my room, a newspaper in hand. He tossed it onto the bed without a word, and I froze when I saw the headline. "Two Die in Tragic Car Accident."

I didn't want to read it. I didn't want to believe it. But my eyes betrayed me, skimming the words until they landed on the names—my parents.

"No," I whispered, my voice breaking. "No, no, no. You're lying."

He just laughed, low and cruel. "Am I?"

I launched myself at him, fists flying, screaming every curse I could imagine. I hit and clawed at him, but it was like fighting a brick wall. He didn't flinch, didn't even try to stop me. He just stood there, letting me exhaust myself.

When I finally collapsed, chest heaving, tears streaming down my face, he crouched down to my level. "If you think that's bad," he murmured, his tone almost gentle, "just imagine what I'll do to your precious Luca. Or his brother. Or maybe anyone who has ever met you."

The air left my lungs. Luca.

I thought about his stupid smirk, the way he'd look at me like I was the only person in the room, even when he pretended to hate me. I thought about our last night together, how we touched, the way we kissed, and the times we came close to giving in to each other. The moment I realized I loved him and the moment I said the words when I was taken.

I couldn't lose him. Not him.

"Don't touch them," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

He smiled, slow and sinister. "Then don't make me."

That night, everything changed.

I tried to block out the sound of his footsteps as he approached, trying to pretend I didn't hear the way he locked the door behind him. But when his cold hand touched my cheek, there was no escaping it.

I wanted to fight him. God, I wanted to fight. But the weight of what he'd done—and what he could still do—paralyzed me. My parents were gone because of me. Luca and Ethan could be next. I couldn't risk it. I couldn't risk them. If there was one person I wanted my first time to be with, it would have been Luca. But I had been a fool. I had wasted my chance with him by being stubborn and full of crap. And now, my first time would be tarnished with memories of this despicable being in front of me.

When he guided me onto the bed, I thought I might throw up. Silent tears streamed down my face as he undressed me unbearably slowly, kissing my shoulder, as I shut my eyes to his touch which was colder than the night air creeping through the cracks in the walls.

"This doesn't have to be so hard," he murmured, his voice sickeningly soft.

He laid me down, and once he had removed his own clothes, he lay on top of me and proceeded to kiss me everywhere, starting from the nape of my neck, and I shuddered when he got to my breasts. He was taking them in his mouth like he was about to eat an apple, so you can only imagine the pain he induced by biting on them. I kept my eyes shut and prayed it would end quickly, but it didn't.

Then my worst nightmare came to pass. His erection pressed against my sensitive folds between my legs, and I was hoping with every bit of my soul that he would change his mind. That was ridiculous false hope, of course, because in the next moment, he shoved himself in me so suddenly, roughly and painfully, that I screamed to the point where he had to cover my mouth. Every second felt like an eternity, the pain cutting deeper than anything physical ever could. He kept thrusting into me sometimes fast and then slow as if to torture me and when he moaned into my ear, it was like hearing a wolf growl at his prey.

Just before he reached his peak, he penetrated me deeply, pounding me even faster than I thought possible, but suddenly it stopped when I felt a slight pulsating feeling and wetness while he was still inside of me. And when it was over, when he finally pulled away with that smug smirk, I felt... hollow. Like a part of me had been ripped out and would never grow back.

"After hundreds of years, that was sensational. Good girl," he said, pulling his pants back on. "You'll learn to appreciate this eventually."

But I didn't. Not the next time, or the time after that, or the hundreds of times that followed. Weeks turned into months, and months into years. I never felt any kind of pleasure from what he did to me, even though he tried to teach me different ways how he could have me, how to be in different positions to accept his advances, and even how to get past the pain these activities brought me. The pain had stopped, but I had also stopped keeping track of time because what was the point? I wasn't innocent Quinn anymore. I was just a shell. A body. Something he could use, break, and discard at his leisure.

Over time, he changed. The more he took from me, the more human he looked—his features sharper, his body stronger. And I changed, too. I wasn't the scared, naive girl who'd tried to claw her way out of this hellhole. I was something else. Harder. Angrier. But empty all the same.

One day, he brought someone else into the picture—a woman, cold and cruel, who he said would "train" me. Torture was more like it. She pushed me to my limits and beyond, breaking me down physically as much as he had emotionally.

"I need a strong Luna," he'd say. "Not a weak little lamb."

I hated him with every fiber of my soul. But somewhere deep down, past the anger, past the numbness, there was still a sliver of hope. A voice whispering that maybe, just maybe, someone would find me.

Maybe Luca would find me.

And maybe, just maybe, I'd still be me when he did.